Pour Some Sugar on Me
by shimmeryshine
Summary: It's our dear Beckett's birthday, and Castle has some pretty sweet ideas for how to celebrate.


**A/N: **This was co-written with the fabulous sparkles_mouse on LJ and written entirely in the text messages of our iPhones because we thought it would be a fun game to pass paragraphs back and forth and then it turned into a 6,700 word (!) fic. Lovingly referred to as "Beckett puts out for candy".

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><p>...<p>

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><p>It's just past seven in the morning when Castle unlocks the doors to the three level candy store, flipping the lights on with one finger, the yellow glow glinting off containers of candy piled high and absolutely everywhere. Beckett lifts an impressed eyebrow.<p>

"Do I want to know how you got the key to the city's biggest candy store?" She looks around at the colorful displays in awe as he watches her.

"Dylan and I go way back. Told her it was my favorite detective's birthday and voila, key!"

Beckett still looks mildly skeptical. "You bribed her with something didn't you?"

"Oh yeah. I have some pictures she wouldn't want to get out." He grins, clearly proud of himself.

"Charming." She nudges him with her shoulder and can't hide the child like smile lighting her face, despite her deadpan dig.

"Pick your poison, detective," he gestures at the mountains of candy, a kingdom of sweets at her fingertips. "Anything for you," he whispers, and she can't help but feel warmth creeping up her neck to fan across her cheeks at the private, affectionate tone.

She could say thank you, _should_ say thank you but there's something overwhelmingly magical about the moment that she simply wants to enjoy. Instead she smiles, turning in a circle to survey the room. "I don't even know where to start. I've never been here." His eyes widen and it almost makes her laugh that she's never seen this kind of shock in him over a dead body. Her lack of trips to a candy store, yes. Dead bodies? Not for the king of suspense.

"Well, this is the gummy level. Bears of all flavors! Chocolate too and hard candy. Downstairs is M&Ms and specialty candy. And top floor, bar!"

"There's not a bar in here!"

"Wrong my dear detective, there is. And if I'm not mistaken, you have today off. Can I interest you in a chocolate milk with Kaluha? Maybe a bendy straw?"

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, Castle."

He tuts at her. "Birthday rules, Beckett. It's never too early to hit the bar when you have free reign of a candy store."

"Trying to get me drunk already?"

He hums noncommittally, sliding a hand to the small of her back to guide her toward the stairs while plunging his other hand into a barrel of gummy bears. He pops one into his mouth, holding his hand out to her. She lifts an eyebrow, tries to protest but ends up taking one. Fuck it. He's right. It's her birthday, she doesn't have to work and her partner has rented her a candy store.

He rented her a goddamn candy store.

"You're really something, Castle."

He grins at her, behind the bar now, rummaging around and making a mess. "And to think you couldn't stand me for so long. Would Ryan ever get you a candy store?"

"Calm down, Bill Gates. You didn't _buy_the store for me."

He waves a hand in front of her face dismissively as he hauls the bottle of Kahlua onto the bar top smoothly. "Insignificant details." He pours them both a drink and then slides into a candy cane colored stool next to her, raising his glass in a toast and encouraging her to do the same. Her smile quirks to the side as she does, waiting for whatever silly yet touching thing he's about to come out with for her on her birthday.

"To my favorite muse," he says, "on her...What birthday is this?"

She shakes her head with a smile. "You were doing so well. Keep going."

"On it. Happy Birthday, Kate. I tried to gift you an Oompa Loompa but apparently Dylan doesn't sell them."

She bursts out laughing, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Seriously. This is...awesome."

His face splits into one of the widest grins she's ever seen on him and then they both knock back their drinks, wearing matching grimaces when they thunk their glasses down on the bar. "I love a good Kahlua in the morning," she says around a cough and then he's grabbing her hand and pulling her back down the stairs and to the candy. "Are you sure this present was for _me_?" she laughs as they almost skip down the steps, arms and sides bumping as they go.

He's quiet for a moment, pondering, his grip on her tightening. "Okay, it's a little for me but I wanted to share it with you! And come on, Beckett. You, me, a candy store, alcohol on a school day? It doesn't get cooler than this!" He pulls her down another flight of stairs and across the room. "You want pajamas? I'll buy you some colorful pants for your birthday. You can wear them to the precinct."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure, Castle. I won't get flack for that at all."

"Can I make Nikki do it?"

"Do you basically let Nikki do whatever I don't want to?"

"Sure," he shrugs nonchalantly. "Why do you think Nikki and Rook had sex a month after they met?"

"Seriously?"

"I never joke about fictional characters."

"You joke about everything, Castle."

"Not Nikki and Rook's sex life." He raises an eyebrow and she barks out a laugh because since when has Nikki and Rook's sex life been _anything_ other than one giant in-joke that only the two of them are really in on.

"So what else would Nikki do here?" she says after a moment, deciding to play along, get in his head a little bit.

"Have sex with Rook."

Beckett laughs again. "I'm surprised she still goes to work, Castle. Since she's apparently a huge nymphomaniac."

Castle's eyes light up. "This is why you're my muse, Beckett! Because you come up with brilliant ideas like this."

"Do it and I'll kill you. Come on, what would Nikki do here?"

Castle pulls her across the room to the M&Ms. It's barrels of different colors, an eclectic rainbow of chocolate. "Nikki loves candy. When she was little she'd go with her mom to the movies and they'd share boxes of stuff. Favorite treat? M&Ms and popcorn. So if she was here - alone with no one but Rook - she'd be that little girl again."

Beckett tilts her head at him, eyes feeling bright because she knows her own history is completely intertwined with Nikki's in his head. "She would like that he knows that about her." Her voice is soft, fingers trailing the edge of the M&Ms barrel, pulling the lever for a handful of greens and popping them all into her mouth at the same time. She grins around the mouthful of chocolate and he looks completely proud of her. "Wha's nessst?" she mumbles around her candy, letting him grab for her hand again.

"Never question why you're my muse," he whispers, voice tinged with a little bit of awe, but before she can answer he's already dragging her elsewhere. He takes her to a shelf of empty candy jars with names written on them and pulls two off. _Nikki._ _Kate._ He holds them out to her. "Who do you want to be today, Detective?" She stares at both containers, licking her lips in concentrated thought. She reaches out for the one with Nikki's name on it.

"Let's play. You think you know me so well? Fill my name with what you think I'd want."

"And what are you going to do with Nikki?"

"You're going to write down what you'd put in for Nikki and we're going to test how well I know my alter ego."

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><p>They end up meeting in the middle of the store twenty minutes later, both with jars full of candy. "Swap," she says, handing him her Nikki jar and taking the Kate jar he's cradling. She rifles through it, smiling at the things she knows she's eaten in front of him, jelly beans and junior mints, and at the things he's worked out she likes without ever having to be told. She only looks over to him after she's done taking inventory of her jar, notices the soft look in his eyes, the way he's watching her instead of taking stock of how well she did. "Aren't you going to check?" she asks, gesturing to the Nikki jar with her eyes.<p>

"I don't need to. If you picked it, it's right."

"_Castle_," she begins to whine; she knows she rocked that challenge and she wants props.

"You have more Nikki in you than you think," he winks at her.

She goes over to the register and takes the piece of paper with his answers on it. "If you won't look, I'll do it myself." She lifts a colorful pen from the spinning case and begins to check things off. "M&Ms, jelly beans, junior mints..." She grins, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "Okay so Nikki is a little bit like me."

"A little? Beckett, come on. It's everything I put in the jar for you. Except one thing...One thing that I put on Nikki's list that Kate Beckett wouldn't put on hers."

She pulls out an atomic fireball like the proud woman she is because she _does_ know her alter, more than that she knows _him_. "You've never made it a secret that Nikki's a fireball. I can't have them because-"

"Because you're allergic. Something in the dye, but they were your favorite as a kid. It's why Nikki loves them."

She rolls the fireball around in her palm, regarding him as the plastic crinkles against her skin. She doesn't even know how he knows that about her, doesn't remember telling him at all, and now it's her chest that feels like a fireball. She's smiling as she unwraps the candy, holding it up between their faces. "When Rook kisses Nikki," she starts, voice dropping lowly and taking a step closer to him. "Does she taste like fireballs?"

She's going for his mouth with that red piece of candy, he can tell, his eyes dropping to it (and her own mouth) before it goes back to her eyes. He swallows audibly. "Um. I'm not sure she's ever kissed him after eating one."

Beckett nods. "Oh." She presses the candy against his mouth, the ball sliding through his lips. It swishes from one side to the other and they're in a standstill until she's on her toes, pressing her lips to his. She can taste the hot cinnamon as her tongue brushes over his bottom lip, taste the breath of air that reminds her of being a kid. "Now you know," she whispers. "For your next book." Her feet hit the ground. "I've missed that taste," she mutters and whether it's the fireball or him, neither of them are sure.

He lists into her space, absently sucking on the fireball as she stands still. "Yes. Good. Thank you," he coughs. Her mouth quirks because she's pretty sure she just completely caught him off guard and Richard Castle is never one to stretch for words.

"Does Rook like them?" His head tilts quizzically, not following her. She laughs at him. "Fireballs. Does Rook like them?"

"Oh." He thoughtfully rolls the candy around in his mouth, making it obvious, despite the many public denials, that he is indeed Jameson Rook (and her so much more of Nikki Heat than anyone would guess). "He loves them."

"Hmmm. I look forward to reading that scene then. You really do have a way with details." She starts to wander the floor, her fingers clenched because she needs to grab onto something, onto him and here really isn't the place. "What now?"

"Is there anything else you want me to taste test for you?" he asks and the little boy is back on solid ground. "Or perhaps another drink?" Castle looks at his watch. "It's now 8 a.m. Mimosa?"

"I can't imagine there's orange juice anywhere in here." She pauses for a moment, letting her eyes take in the entire store to capture it to memory. "So, is this it?" she asks when her eyes finally rest back on him.

"Is what it?"

"I have the day off, Castle. I assume this store has to open at some point today, so what else do you have planned?"

He steps closer to her, tapping his fingers against the back of her hand. "We're not going to have to take a trip to the hospital, are we?" he asks, crunching the last bit of candy between his teeth.

"Why would we have to go the hospital?" He reaches out his hand, cups her jaw just enough to swipe his thumb across her bottom lip.

"You had some of my candy and you're allergic." She fights the urge to open her mouth for his finger, to swipe her tongue against his skin.

"Oh. No, it was just a little bit, I'll be fine." He drops his hand and she's...disappointed?

"Not enough tongue to get you hot?" he smirks and then watches as she cringes at his lame joke and tries not to laugh.

"We can try more tongue later, Castle." And then she's off, toward the bags where they've been collecting sugared treats, leaving him rooted to the floor. Did she just...No. Kate Beckett definitely did not just promise him - "I want some of those gummy bears. You coming?" He forces his feet to move, following her across the colorful floor. "And you never answered my question," Beckett says, throwing different flavored bears into her bag.

"What question?"

"I know you, Castle. As much as I'd be completely happy with this being my present, you have a day planned, don't you?"

Castle's eyes gleam. "Oh, Detective Beckett. You have no idea."

She tries not to look too excited as they gather up their bags of candy; she's actually impressed with his selection. It's a mix of it all: gummy bears, chocolate covered Oreos, giant everlasting jawbreakers (he blames Alexis for this one, although she knows his daughter wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole – nor would her cavity free teeth.)

"How does this work exactly?" Kate muses. "Do we leave money on the counter with a note? Thanks for the store?"

Castle barks out a laugh. "It's already covered." He's about to lead them toward the door when he sees the wall of celebrity glass boxes, filled with candy from television and movie favorites. "Phoebe Cates," he scoffs. "Hot girl gets out of a pool in an 80's movie and _that_ deserves a display?"

"I thought you'd appreciate a hot girl getting out of a pool, Castle."

He looks at her and she notices how his lips are still red from the fireball. She can almost smell the cinnamon, taste the burn of the candy, of his mouth.

"I appreciated _you_ getting out of a pool in a bathing suit." His eyes crinkle at the edges, lips lifting. "So yeah! I guess I do."

She turns her head away, the flush creeping up on her cheeks again as her lips break into a smile. "Let's go. I want to see what other ridiculous things you've got planned for us."

He's staring at the display case and she can see the lines forming around his eyes. "Hold on, I'm offended! I helped Dylan conceive the idea for this place and I don't even get a box? Stay here." And then he's off and she's left standing there, rolling her eyes.

His shoes pound against the colorful floors and her first assessment of him was right; he _is_ like a nine year old on a sugar rush…and a couple of drinks of Kahlua.

"Okay, let's leave this in Dylan's office so she can put it on display the next time she's here."

Castle's filled one of the glass jars with his favorites.

And hers.

She notices the junior mints (the one thing of hers he'll never touch), the M&M's (she loves that shades of purple exist), the jelly beans (mostly red, their favorites) and a fireball. Castle finds a sharpie behind the counter, scrawls something the top of the case that she struggles to see.

"What are you writing?"

He hides it from view with a shake of his head. "Nothing."

"Castle," she demands. "What are you writing?"

"You'll see it next time we're here."

Her hands are on her hips. "What if there isn't a next time?"

He winks. "Silly Beckett, we both know there will be a next time."

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><p>Turns out his day of birthday fun includes jaunts all across the city, their stops as meaningful as they are fun. A really old bookstore with amazing finds and some of the best coffee she's ever tasted; a private lunch of all her favorite foods whipped up by one of Castle's super famous chef friends from the last season of Top Chef (which she knows he knows she secretly loves), endless minutes spent happily zooming through the streets in his town car, pressed thigh to thigh as she tries to guess where they're going next.<p>

"You're not going to tell me the last place we're going, are you?"

He smiles at her, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. His finger brush her cheek, linger a moment too long. "You know where we're going. This entire day has been a tour of your favorite things, so you tell me."

She bites her lower lip, staring out of the window and into the city. Something inside her melts and she tilts her head to face him. "Central Park, boating."

The smile he gives her is genuine, warm. "Guess you didn't need my help after all," he says softly.

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><p>They get out on the water with about an hour left until dusk, working together to paddle their little rowboat around the lake. She's effortless in her strokes as he watches her, smooth athleticism exuded in every bunch of her muscles underneath her shirt. Her cheeks are flushed as she flashes him a smile, looks <em>happy<em>as he follows her lead, gliding them along without a hitch. Esposito's voice bounces around in his brain, something about steering and practice for something that he can't remember, but whatever it is, he thinks they're completely rocking it. "Are you a secret Olympic rower?" he asks her as he presses his oar forward and then back, forward and then back.

"You got me. I'm taking the summer off of work to complete in the Olympics."

"London? Can I come with you? I'll hold your paddles." She can't help the smirk that lifts her cheeks at the thought of him waddling behind her, paddles slung over his shoulder, trying to keep up with her long strides.

Her fingers are numb as they circle back around near the front of the lake, but she doesn't want to leave the park, doesn't want the day to end. "Why'd you do this, Castle? It's not a milestone birthday, it's not anything special." She watches the change in his eyes, darker, lighter, filled with shadows.

"You know why," he answers, and something inside her falters at the tone of his voice. Her fingers tighten on the paddle and she wants to look away but she can't. Can't force herself to say the words she wants to.

"So I guess this is it, huh?" she says instead, her voice cracking.

"Well, there's always karaoke at The Old Haunt."

Spending more time with him is completely appealing, but she doesn't want to be surrounded by a throng of intoxicated strangers on her birthday. "Come home with me," she blurts out and it's not exactly a question, it's a _request_ and he's never been one to deny her anything.

"Do you have a karaoke machine?"

"I have wine."

She sees his throat constrict in a swallow. "Even better." They paddle in silence for a while starting their journey back to the boathouse. "I knew I should have gotten you a karaoke machine," he says under his breath.

She laughs and she's not sure if it's the biting air or all he's done for her today but she leans forward, the paddle still in the calm waters. "Never know, Castle. If you get me drunk enough, who says I'll need the machine?"

"Such a tease," he says with wide eyes, wondering what her voice sounds like when she sings. He's suddenly dying to find out. She rolls her eyes at him just a little as she tosses the rope from the bottom of their boat onto the dock and waits until the attendant signals them to step off. He's right behind her, steadying her with a hand on her waist as she reaches for the railing of the wooden steps.

"I might sound like a dying bird when I sing, so don't get too excited there."

He tuts as if she could ever sound like anything less than pleasant. "I highly doubt it," he mumbles.

Her fingers are freezing as she stands next to him at the boating kiosk, watches him pass over his American Express as he shoves his other hand into the cozy looking pocket of his jacket. Hers are small, not ideal for warming, so she bites her lip for a second and then decides to be impulsive and slide her hand into his pocket as well.

He looks at her as soon as she does it, eyes laced with desire, mouth formed in a perfect o. He might claim she's all Nikki but she still surprises him during moments like these, moments where she's truly the character he's molded her into. "Cold," she mumbles and he nods. His fingers brush against hers inside his coat as they start to walk out of the park and toward his town car.

"How much wine do you have?" he asks. "Do we need to get more?"

She thinks about it, calculates the number of bottles, wonders how much she'll need to drink to gain the courage to go after what she really wants. She takes in a breath. She's a big girl and it's her birthday and she uses guns for a living and - "No I think I have enough."

"Enough to get you to sing to me?"

She brushes her thumb over his. "Okay maybe not enough for that."

The driver opens the door for them as they reach the street, and she slides in first, their hands coming out of his pocket but she doesn't let go of him. "Where to?" he asks as Castle presses into her side, their linked fingers resting heavy and warm and casual against her thigh. She gives the driver her address without missing a beat. There's a bottle of wine in an empty bucket along the wall of the car and she grabs for it, pouring herself a healthy amount as he holds her glass for her. The red liquid warmly slides down her throat as she takes a sip, throat working tightly as she feels him squeeze her fingers and then she's smiling at him with a little bit of nervousness creeping into the lines beside her eyes.

"This doesn't have to be a thing," he says quietly, offering her an out even though every single thing about his body language is screaming that he wants this as much as she does.

"Isn't it already one?" she challenges.

He trails his fingers over her face and her eyes slip closed. "Yes," he murmurs, "but if you're not ready..."

She opens her eyes, smiling. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? Take me to a candy store, have someone on Top Chef cook for me, bookstores, boating. All so I'd put out."

He nearly chokes on his wine. "So you're going to put out? Do my chances increase if there's a cake waiting for you at your place?"

"Whipped cream?" He nods.

"Oh I don't know, Castle. I hear there's a lot that can be done with whipped cream."

"Hear?"

She winks at him. "_Know_."

"Driver!" Castle starts to shout toward the front of the car, to tell him to drive faster, she assumes, but she clamps her hand over his mouth, hushing him with a bubbling laugh, her wine glass perilously pressed against his face.

"Shh he'll think I'm a loose woman," she whispers, going for serious but when he snorts out a laugh against her palm she can't keep it together. One of his hands slides around her side, to her back, feeling large and hot against the thin layers of her jacket and tshirt and then she's somehow three-quarters in his lap.

"I'm pretty sure he already thinks we're together anyway," Castle whispers conspiratorially directly into her ear. She shivers.

"And why would he think that?"

"Maybe I never corrected his assumption, _anyway_it's not important. How's your wine?" He's a master at changing the subject, but she allows it.

"It's good, thanks." She leans into him, whispering in his ear. "This doesn't mean I'm having sex with you as soon as we walk in the door." His hand grips her thigh and she nearly gasps.

"We've been doing this dance for three years, Kate. I've gotten used to the slow burn." She flushes, dropping her head against the rest.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we just got this out of the way weeks after we met?"

"Did you not read Heat Wave?"

She grins. "Touché." The car stops in front of her building.

"I like the slow burn with you," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Think about how hot it'll be the moment it's set on fire."

When the car door opens abruptly, she has a little bit of trouble getting out, her jelly legs having absolutely nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the man still touching her in any place he can easily reach. She waits at the door to her building as Castle pays the driver and sends him home, the implications of that move curling hotly in her belly. They're at her apartment, alone, on her birthday and his mode of transportation is jetting off down the street without him. He's all hers. They don't speak until the elevator doors close smoothly in front of them.

"How cliché would it be if we made out in the elevator right now?"

Beckett smirks, leaning against the wall to support herself. "So much for your theory on a slow burn, huh, Castle?"

"Are we turning this into a competition on who's going to break first? Because I have had a _lot_ of practice, Beckett. Nerves of steel right here."

She takes a step closer to him, trailing her nails down his chest. He inhales and her eyes widen in innocence. "Really? Nerves of steel? Seems to me your resolve could use a little work."

The door dings open then, saving him from her full assault, and then he's up against her back as she attempts to unlock the door. He's not quite hard but getting there and she rests her forehead against the door, breathing. "I won't break first," he says again, only this time directly into her ear.

She finally gets the door open, escaping his grasp. "Wine. We need wine."

"Yeah," Castle comments, "because that doesn't lower people's inhibitions at all."

"Worried about losing already, Castle?" He scoffs at the suggestion.

They both head straight for the kitchen and she pours them both a generous amount of wine, taking a large gulp of hers defiantly, not about to be bested by him or an alcoholic beverage. "Aren't you going to have some?" she purrs as she slides his glass across the counter and watches as he swallows thickly, eyes on her mouth. Her fingers fiddle with his collar, smoothing the fabric down, the tips of her fingers brushing the bare skin at the side of his neck softly. She can feel the little groan that ripples through him before she can hear it.

"This is not going to work," he croaks out, and she's pretty sure he doesn't even believe himself. A sip of wine passes through his lips as he continues to watch her, her teeth worrying at her own as she sways closer, mouth breathing against the delicate skin of his ear.

"I don't know Castle," she starts, letting her other hand slide down to play suggestively with his belt. "It _feels_ like it's working..." she trails off and starts to trip her fingers down to the button of his jeans and down again but then he's barking _CAKE!_into her ear and taking a comical step back. She would laugh at him if she weren't so completely distracted by the flush crawling up his neck and the tightening fit of his jeans.

She follows him farther into the kitchen as he retreats, her glass clutched tightly in her hand as she stalks him like a hunter. There are about three surfaces - maybe four - that she wants him to throw her against at the moment but she's not a quitter. He's taking the cake out of her fridge as she rounds her center island and she considers asking how the hell he got into her apartment to leave it here but decides against it. Instead she leans over the cake, swiping her finger through the whipped cream.

"Hey! You didn't even blow out the candle yet."

She sucks on her finger slowly, refusing to break eye contact. "Mmm good," she drawls out. "Wanna taste?"

"Nope," Castle responds walking away. "You're evil, by the way. Pure, pure evil."

She laughs, holding her hands up in surrender. "Okay. I'll be good." She passes by him for a knife, brushing her hand over his arm. "For now." She's just pulling it free from her drawer when she feels him press from behind her, reaching his arms around her body and to the counter for the package of candles he left there. She sucks in a breath as he makes full body contact, his aggressive move unexpected.

"Something wrong?" he breathes into her ear as she freezes, trying not to arch her hips back into him, beg him to press her against the counter. She really wants to know if he still tastes like fireballs. She turns in his grasp, the move risky but effective. The smug look on his face at having her trapped is quickly replaced with a fuzzy haze of lust around his pupils at her proximity and she leans forward a bit, offering a generous view down her top if he cares to glance down. Having him this close and doing nothing is not exactly easier for her than it is for him, and she finds herself gripping the countertop behind her for balance.

Her heart is beating erratically as she slides her hand between them, resting her palm over his chest. She can feel his heart racing beneath her touch and she leans forward, resting her head against his. He tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling slightly, and he's breathing against her lips, feather light, and not nearly enough. "In case I didn't say it earlier," and her voice is nothing but air, "thank you. For today. For the past few years." There's barely any space between them and her body aches for him.

"It's not going to work, you know."

"What?" she says.

"You getting all sentimental on me to break our ridiculous and obvious sexual tension."

"I was being sincere, you jackass," she slaps him lightly on the shoulder, but there's no bite to her voice. He looks skeptical.

"The point still stands."

"What if I let you win, as a thank you?" His eyebrow rises and her hand starts trailing warmly down his arm, finding a home on the inside of his elbow.

"A thank you for what?"

"Waiting," she says simply, and she can hear the way the word stretches in his head, over tonight, their day, weeks, months, years. His hand moves to cup her jaw, thumb brushing against her lower lip in a mirror of his concerned touch in the candy store only this one feels even more electric.

"That's not something you need to -" he starts but then she's pressing forward and sliding her lips over his own, silencing him and handing him his victory.

"Will you just shut up and take a hint, Castle?" she breathes at him, eyes alight like he's never seen them.

"Cake," he mutters against her mouth. "You have to make a wish."

She pulls his lower lip between her teeth. "Later." He slides his hand under her shirt, unhooking her bra with enough ease that she can't help but laugh. "Forgot what a playboy you used to be."

"Not in a long time." He pulls the bra from under her shirt, dangling it in front of her face. "Red lace. Kinky."

"Maybe I was hoping to get laid tonight." She's pressed up against the counter and she's imagined this before, imagined his hands on her, how it'd feel when - She gasps, jerking her hips against him. He's somehow unbuttoned her pants and his thumb is pressed against her clit and "Fuck," she grinds out, wrapping her arm around his neck, the other gripping the counter.

"All night long?" he teases.

"Shut up, Lionel Richie."

Her eyes slide closed, caught between disbelief that they're doing this _against her kitchen counter _and the lightning hot arousal pounding through her blood screaming now now now. The hand he's got shoved into her pants slides behind her, lifting her onto the edge of the countertop and then his wet mouth is sucking at her throat as she tries not to concuss herself against her cabinets. The light material of her shirt against her bare skin is slowly driving her insane as he starts yanking her jeans down her legs. "Castle," she pants and his mouth comes back up to catch hers for a second before questing back down her vneck.

"Yeah?" he mumbles against her skin sending delicious vibrations skittering across her nerve endings. She can't remember what she was going to say because he's suddenly decided to wrap his mouth around her nipple through her shirt and all she can think is _fuck_.

The back of her head hits the cabinet and she's gripping the counter, her knuckles losing all color, hands losing all sense of feeling. She's going to come with his fucking mouth on her breast - no on her _shirt_ and it's mortifying and - "You're tensing." His voice is muffled against her shirt and then his mouth is gone, down to her thighs. His tongue juts out the side of his mouth, tasting her skin and she's squirming, sliding. "Give me one minute and we'll move somewhere else."

"One minute? You have an _awfully_ high opinion of yourself." He slides a finger inside of her, and she swallows a moan.

"You're so wet," he mutters over her skin. "It'll only take a minute." She doesn't have the time to be embarrassed, not when he presses a kiss over her leg, inching closer to where the pressure's building. "I can't tell you how hot it is that you're so ready."

"Well it's been fucking three years," she spits out before she can edit herself and then shuts her eyes when she feels him laughing at her, the vibration only making her hotter.

"Well let me _fucking_ finish you off," he says and that's literally all she needs, him swearing at her while crouching between her legs, writing things on her insides with his hands and she's gone, arching into him and trying not to slide off the counter. He stays with her through her orgasm, catches her when she does lose all balance and then she's draped against him, loose as a wet towel as he smoothes her hair down and kisses her temple.

"So how about that cake?" she asks, clearing her throat and trying to save face.

"Unless I'm eating it off your naked body, I'm good," he answers without missing a beat.

She laughs, pressing her lips against his. "I'm sure we can arrange that later." Ready to reclaim her power over this situation, she unbuttons his pants, dropping them to the floor with ease. She takes him in her hand then and his eyes slam shut and he's biting his lip so hard she's surprised he's not drawing blood.

"I can never come inside your kitchen again."

Her eyes are glazed and she grins. "Have you already? Did I miss it?"

"No," he groans, completely unable to think of anything but her stupidly hot hands. "Trust me, you'll know."

She starts nibbling her way up his jaw, her fist still wrapped around him. "Can we -" he starts and then groans, grasping her wrist, stilling her. She pouts adorably at the interruption. "Can we be somewhere not standing?" he croaks.

"Counter?" she teases, but she lets go and grabs his hand. "Couch? Bedroom? Floor?" He steps out of his pants, trailing behind her into the living room. "All of the above?" She wraps her arms around his neck, walking them backward until her legs hit the couch. "Where do you want me?" she asks, nipping at his lips.

"Everywhere. Three years, Beckett. I'll take you anywhere." She lies down on the couch, her bottom half bare. She slides her shirt up, tosses it onto the floor. Her legs tilt open, her smile wicked.

"Well. What are you waiting for?"

* * *

><p>Turns out that birthday cake tastes much, much better when eaten after multiple rounds of enthusiastic sex, at 3 in the morning, draped halfway across Castle's chest and her mess of a bed. She should have done this years ago.<p>

"So," he mumbles around a huge bite of whipped cream. "Best birthday ever or _best birthday ever_?"

"Eh," she shrugs, feigning deep thought. "It was alright." She has to shove a forkful of cake into her mouth to hide her smile as she feels him gasp indignantly against her side.

"Katherine Beckett..."

She leans over to give him a sweet and messy kiss, quirking her eyebrows at his outrage. "The best," she whispers, watching his features smooth, that calm confidence returning to his gaze, his usual brand of cocky self-assuredness lurking at the edges of his expression. He sets down his plate on her bedside table, slides an open palm across her naked stomach, feels her sigh contentedly as she sets down her own cake and slithers down under the covers with him. "We still have three hours until I have to be up for work," she says, half a grimace but mostly an invitation.

"Call in sick." His words are muffled against her skin and she closes her eyes.

"I have a real job, Castle. I actually have to go to it once in a while."

He lifts his head, quirks an eyebrow. "Once in a while? Beckett, since I've met you I've reduced my sleeping hours by 75%."

She grins at him, her fingers tugging at his hair. "Huh. So now that you're sleeping with me, what? 80% loss of sleep?"

"75% work, 5% sex?" He shakes his head. "No deal. No one would take that offer."

"Well why don't you write me up a proposal and we'll go over the talking points."

Castle dips his finger in the whipped cream, trailing it between her breasts. She bites her lip, hides her smile with a quirked eyebrow and a look of steely determination. "Or..." His tongue swirls around the cream and she groans. "We stop talking and I prove to you that I'm worth much more than 5%."

"You're on writer boy," she says before tugging at his ears and pulling his face to hers, stealing a whipped cream kiss from his lips.

"Don't call me boy when I'm about to ravish you."

"Sorry," she says on a gasp as his hands find her under the covers, hot and present and she already knows he's won this argument.

(She calls in sick the next morning with him passed out against her back, feeling sneaky and young and _happy,_ the taste of whipped cream and cinnamon and _him_ on her lips.)


End file.
